I am digging through my mother’s lingerie drawer for the lavender and periwinkle slip with the lace along the bottom that I always wear when I’m a gypsy. It is Halloween 1976 and I am ten- years-old. It will be my third year as a gypsy because we shop for our costumes in our parents’ drawers and closets. Or in my brother’s case, in the linen closet. He’s wearing a sheet again. Casper the Friendly Ghost. At least this year the sheet is white. Mom assured him last year that the

It is a cruel trick of architecture that a house always looks so much smaller without the things in it that made it a home.

Now I am haunted not by the wondering of what is in a creek in South Carolina but of what’s in a landfill in North Carolina.

I entered first grade with tears on my face, blood on my lip from a lost loose tooth, no lunch and a hole in my tights.

He was East Cary Junior High School’s Leif Garrett. If I could have had a photo of Skip printed and enlarged, he’d have been on my bedroom wall right next to Tiger Beat poster boys Scott Baio and Shawn Cassidy.

They call it a landline for a reason. Not just because of the cords and cables rooted to the earth. It identified where we all landed when we entered that place called home.

I am about 10 yards behind them and behind me I hear someone say, “Come on Johnny, catch up!” and Johnny says, “I have to wait for the old lady to pass.”

The only time our lives we were truly in danger was when, like Nemo’s dad, we had that unexpected “swim with the jellies.”

I’m a pop out of the birthday cake kinda gal and I started young. I mean I was nine when I planned my first surprise party for my mother’s 30th.

I was moved by the revelations in the development of the pin-pricked image. That volunteer parent had no idea the little light they’d shined on my imagination.

By 2am and we were exhausted and decided that we needed a safer place to rest. That is when Cathy suggested we try the baggage car.

That date in center field? It was the bar no boy could ever reach. Not even my husband.

I am a flag-flying, intensely patriotic daughter of a US Navy veteran, former Girl Scout color guard-saluting, America the Beautiful-singing, 50 state quarter-collecting, 4 th of July apple pie-baking, BBQ sauce-basting, lower-middle to middle class-climbing, life better for my children-dreaming, proud to be an American middle age woman. At least I was proud. But that was when I believed to my core that this country aspired to the values declared in the Declaration of Inde

For me, this mission isn't about baseball at all, though I am learning more about the game. More importantly, I am learning more about my dad.

When I was in my early twenties, I moved into an apartment in Hollywood, conveniently located near Rock and Roll Ralph’s around Sunset and La Brea. My new roommate Shelley and I had met at Irvine Meadows, which my mother thought meant we both loved hiking in nature, but really, we met at a Guns N’ Roses concert. Shel was there for Sebastian Bach, the lead singer of the opening act, Skid Row. I was there because Jon Bon Jovi was the man of my dreams. I mean he was charismatic,

My mother was certain I’d lied about my request for an all-girl’s dorm when I landed in a building filled with BOYS.

I need to remind my husband that he is HOT. Like straight out of the oven, MC Hammer YOU CAN’T TOUCH THIS hot.

By the time George was singing B-B-B-B-Bad, we were B-B-B-B-Blitzed.

The thing about scaffolding is that it begs to be climbed. And the thing about second floor windows that are open is that they beg to be climbed through.

I heard the click of the cassette deck and then the drum and cymbals...

He said his name was Fender, like the guitar, which may or may not have been true, but of course I was Sharona, which definitely was not true.

Contained within my earliest memories was the certainty that I had talent.

Every creak now sounds like an intruder and a masked ghost in gloves keeps invading my dreams.

My new father-in-law decided the fair thing to do would be to have his children draw straws for accommodations.

I’m thinking MAYBE in my ripped jeans and sunglasses, from a distance, JUST MAYBE I’m passing for a co-ed.

You can’t unsee such a thing. And if you’re a maternal sleuth with a puritan upbringing like me, you might look away in shock.

I don’t have insight or hindsight. Crazy Suzanne should not have documented our lives, and should definitely not have chosen what to pack.

My wrists strained at the handcuffs wanting to wave, give a peace sign or some indication that I was still dateable.

W e’re on a raft of logs in the middle of a river just yards from terra-firma when David hands me the dried piece of mushroom. “ You’ve...

I jumped out of the car and rushed into the house as soon as we got home from mass. I flew up the staircase and leaped over my bed,...

As far back as I can remember, I had one very specific goal: True love’s first kiss.

“So, girls, how did it go?” she asked. “Well, we learned a lot,” we said. And that was the truth.

Our scars are songs written on our skin, singing their mournful or joyous melodies through their lingering marks.

This was where you decided if you were going to be a Sandy or a Rizzo.

I sit in the lawn chair in the sunniest part of our yard and wait for my metamorphosis to begin.

I began smelling something rancid. I thought it was in the kitchen and checked under the sink, but it was also in my bedroom and the hall.

Those make-goods made for cheap fun. This make-good is going to cost me.

It turned out, covering a 10-foot jaguar took a lot more paper squares than we thought and we’d have to work through the night.

I start watching what I eat. Mom seems happy that I appear to be jumping aboard the carrot and celery train.

A pet rabbit can live for eight to twelve years. The lifespan of cognizant childhood is far shorter.

I just never expected to be contemplating dropping out to sail to Jamaica with a possible drug smuggler.

Life took over and I kind of forgot about the emergency bag…until there was an emergency.

The magic has occurred in our guest bathroom.

I am erasing part of his story. Or at least I am editing it.

My one-piece white jumpsuit with beaded shoulders is its own sad story of a fashion misstep that lives on as a two part mistake.

I am a fraud...My sash is heavy. It jingles with dozens of safety pins, including the pinned on patch I’d received for sewing.

Anyone in Los Angeles with a talent and a desire to be on TV? That is only half the population! And they are calling ME?

No way!” Maddie says defiantly. My 4-foot ballerina clutches her bear tightly,lip quivering in her first deliberate stand against authority.

I was born while my father was 100 feet under the North Atlantic in a Polaris submarine. He was honorably discharged from the Navy when I...

I’d briefly forget my agony until I realized my family may no longer be worried about my well-being at which point, I’d begin another tortur